A Not So Silent Night
by High-Functioning Ginger
Summary: Greg Lestrade receives a call from Sherlock on Christmas Eve. He's been locked up for poking around a crime scene and needs Lestrade to come bail him out. Sherlock ends up spending the night at his place. Some bonding ensues. No Slash. Pre-John!Sherlock. Paternal!Lestrade. Holiday fluff with some slight angst. Rating for language and mention of drug use.
1. Chapter 1

_**AN: I was going to write this as a one-shot but it wasn't working for me. It will probably just end up with 3 chps at the most. And I will finish it before Xmas! This is my first time writing Pre-John Sherlock and Paternal!Lestrade so let me know your thoughts on it!**_

**Disclaimer: I own nothing**

Greg's phone buzzed violently at him from its place on the kitchen table. He was thankful for the interruption. He and his wife, Emily, were attempting to play the role of "loving couple/parents on Christmas eve" and failing miserably at it.

She was sitting on the living room, surrounded by gifts that she was wrapping. Greg was meant to be taking care of them, but he was working on a report from a botched stake-out that had to be finished. Crime never rests, so he couldn't either.

He didn't need to see the glares Emily kept shooting towards his turned back to know she was angry. He couldn't say he blamed her, but he'd have thought she'd grown accustom to his work habits by now. The buzz cut through the tense silence of the flat and he answered it with such swiftness it suggested desperation.

"DI Lestrade speaking." He greeted, causing his wife to glance up in something akin to resignation. If it was a work call she knew she couldn't keep him there.

There was a pause on the other end, in which he heard a clamor of muffled voices before an all too familiar smooth baritone answered "Ah, wasn't sure I'd reach you. Glad I did though, seeing as I only get one phone call in here."

Greg couldn't stop a growl of frustration from escaping his throat at the words. "Sherlock? What's going on? Are you alright?" he inquired, moving from the kitchen into their bedroom and closing the door.

"I'm perfectly fine Inspector, save for the fact that one of your idiotic colleagues locked me up nearly an hour ago for helping them solve a double homicide." Sherlock sneered in response.

Greg took a calming breath and ran his free hand over his eyes. Of course Sherlock had to go poking around crime scene on Christmas Eve.

"Well it shouldn't come as a surprise to you. It's not normal for Uni age kids to show up on crime scenes and insist on solving the murders themselves. No one else knows who you are Sherlock."

"I'm aware of that Inspector. And I didn't intend to solve it on my own, though I'm quite capable of doing so. I simply wanted to give them a tip in the right direction. I told them to contact you to verify my credentials, but they refused." Sherlock responded smoothly.

"You don't have any credentials Sherlock! For god's sake..." Greg trailed off in exasperation and wondered how someone could be so brilliant and also so naïve.

"You can't go poking around crime scenes without permission. And no one is going to give you that permission except for me. And that's only on occasion, alright?"

There was a long silence on the other end and Greg was beginning to wonder if Sherlock had hung up on him. Finally, in a surprisingly soft tone Sherlock spoke.

"You're quite right. I'll focus my attention on consulting in private matters in the future."

Greg let out a gentle sigh of relief and smiled to himself, pleased that he managed to get through to Sherlock. "Good. I'm assuming you need me to come get you then?" he offers, knowing Sherlock would loathe having to ask himself.

"If you'd be so kind." Is all Sherlock says, but Greg can detect the hint of relief and gratitude within his voice. He wonders if Sherlock really thought that he would leave him there overnight.

"Right. Be there in a few minutes. And stay out of trouble 'til I get there. No deducing the guard's secret romance or anything, alright?" He says, already digging into his drawer for a clean pair of socks.

"Too late." Sherlock mumbles into the receiver and then it clicks off.

Greg mutters a few choice words under his breath, wondering what sort of bullshit he'll have to put up with from the guards to get Sherlock out of there. Not to mention the politics with the arresting officer. He suspects that this arrest isn't as much about Sherlock's antics as it is about turfs wars. He knows there are a few newly promoted DI's trying to make names for themselves. Especially Bradstreet and Gregson.

"Who was that, hon?" Emily inquired as he came back into the sitting room. The pet-name is more of a habit than an endearment.

"You know the kid I've told you about that shows up on crime scenes and gives us tips?" he says, shutting down his laptop.

Emily paused in her wrapping for a moment before giving a derisory smile "What the junkie?" she inquires.

Greg winces just slightly at her response, but nods in agreement. Partially because he doesn't want to start a fight and partially because it's, unfortunately, true.

"Yeah. Apparently he showed up at a crime scene earlier this evening and got himself locked up for interfering. He needs me to go and fetch him." Greg explained, already donning his coat.

A scowl formed quickly upon Emily's face "But Greg, its Christmas Eve." She protests, gesturing to the scattered gifts and paper on the floor.

He nods resolutely and argues "All the more reason he shouldn't spend the night in a cell."

He began winding his scarf about his neck and Emily threw her hands in the air, saying "Fine. It's not like you've ever listened to me anyway. Why start now?"

Greg blew out a sharp breath threw his nose, attempting to calm his rising ire and placated "I'll be back in under an hour alright? Promise. I'll help finish up the gifts for the kids and it'll be as though nothing ever happened."

Emily snorted and said "Sure. I've heard that before. _'Just an hour'_ then when you finally show up sometime the next morning you're so damn tired you just collapse."

Greg opens his mouth to protest but Emily halts him with a sharp wave of her hand. "Just go." She says, turning her back and continuing with her work.

Greg hesitates for a moment, hand on the door knob. He knows he should say something, but words fail him. So instead he just exits the flat.

Emily is going to kill him. Greg knows it as surely as if she was holding a loaded gun to his head. _"But it's not as if I can do anything different"_ he thinks to himself as he leads Sherlock up the stairs to his flat.

He had very little trouble getting Sherlock out to his surprise. The guards couldn't wait to get rid of him. Even his cell-mate, a serial arsonist, was unnerved by him. When he led Sherlock out to his care and asked him where home was Sherlock answered with an address in a part of town so bad Lestrade refused to take him back there.

"You can't seriously live there!" he'd protested. Somehow he'd always imagined Sherlock in an upscale neighborhood.

Sherlock had shrugged in response and said "It's the only place I can afford on my own."

"But don't you have a brother?" Greg protested.

A subtle snarl formed on Sherlock lips as he answered "I have no need for his charity." And he refused to say anymore on the matter.

So, Greg felt he had no choice but to take Sherlock home with him. He could sleep on the couch and in the morning Sherlock could catch a cab to him parent's house.

Still, as he unlocked his door, he wondered what had possessed him to do so. He barely knew Sherlock, beyond the four cases he'd helped to solve. He hadn't even known him a full year, and know he was going to spend Christmas Eve with him. This would be good.

_**Writing is my division, reviewing is yours!**_


	2. Chapter 2

_**AN: Part two! I am undecided as to whether or not this is the end. I might do Xmas morning and I might not...**_

**I own nothing**

"So you decided to come home after all..." Emily's words greeted him when he unlocked the door and stepped inside. She was seated on the couch, reading. Undoubtedly she hadn't spotted Sherlock's curly head behind him yet, otherwise she wouldn't have said it.

Emily was all about appearances, not that illusions of domestic bliss would mean much to Sherlock. He'd see through the whole thing a minute. He didn't answer and instead stepped aside to let Sherlock through.

Emily's face snapped from a sneer to surprise to a false smile in less than five seconds. Sherlock noted the progression, but said nothing and manage a

facsimile smile of his own. Greg wasn't sure who was more convincing.

"Honey, who's this?" Emily asked standing and moving closer to lay a gentle hand on his arm. If it weren't for the cold glint in her eye Greg would've thought she was actually unbothered by Sherlock's presence. But he knows better.

"Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective. World's only." Sherlock introduced himself smoothly before Greg has a chance to respond. "Your husband has been so kind as to offer me your couch for the evening."

Greg finds himself biting back a curse at the words. He intended to ease Emily into the news, though exactly how he would've gone about that he wasn't sure. Maybe play him up as a charity case. Kid alone in a bad neighborhood on Christmas Eve? Yeah, right. She'd never go for it. Surprisingly enough she didn't even flinch.

"Emily Lestrade. Pleased to meet you, Sherlock." She responded, proffering her hand. There is an irate twinge in the corner of her mouth for a brief second, but the rest of her falsely warm expression holds.

Greg is beginning to allow himself the pleasant delusion that the evening may not turn out too badly when Sherlock speaks.

"_Mr. Holmes_ please." Sherlock corrects, and then continues "And we both know that's not remotely true. You're furious with your husband for offering shelter to a drug addict in your home. Either that or you've got a neurological disorder that causes your mouth and hands to twitch in a fashion that suggests extreme agitation." Sherlock rattles off with something akin to boredom in his tone that suggests the entire exchange is tedious.

Greg isn't sure if he would rather punch Sherlock in the face or start running and not stop until he reached Yorkshire. Possibly both. Instead he lets out a low groan and shuts his eyes tightly for a moment.

Emily's smile remained firmly, coldly in place. She turned on her heel and called back over her shoulder "I'll just get you some blankets and pillows. You boys can flip a coin to decide who get the couch and who get the floor."

The thought of a night sleeping on either is a painful one to Greg, whose back has been giving him hell since it turned cold. But he knows it's useless to protest and supposes he should be relieved. Emily could've raised a lot more hell than this.

While she's gathering blankets Greg start's removing the back cushions from the couch and clearing room on the floor. Sherlock stand watching, hands in his pockets.

"Why don't you earn your keep and give me a hand with this chair?" Greg snaps, irritated by Sherlock's rudeness and tired from his day.

Sherlock doesn't respond to the sharp tone with more than a shrug and moves to help Greg shove a chair to make enough space for someone to comfortable lie down.

Just as they're finishing up Emily returns to the living room with two duvets and two pillows. She dumps them on the floor in a pile and turns on her heel without a word. The door doesn't exactly slam behind her, but it's closed with more force than necessary

Sherlock's eyes flick towards the direction of the door and for a brief moments Greg entertains the notion that he might apologize.

Instead Sherlock says "What time does she usually wake up in the mornings?

"With the kids, which is about seven thirty on Christmas." Greg answers, then asks "Why?"

Sherlock gives a wry smile and says "So I know how early I need to be gone. I'll set my alarm for six."

Greg waves that away and says "Don't worry about it. She's already pissed so I doubt it would make a difference. And the kids are too young to care about anything other than presents."

Sherlock gives disdainful sniff, though whether it's at the mention of children or presents Greg can't be sure. "Still, I've work to do so I won't be hanging around."

Greg smiles and tosses him a blue duvet. "I wouldn't expect you to. I suppose I'll be lucky if I get you to sleep at all right?"

Sherlock shrugs and answers "If I eat something in the evening then I usually become drowsy."

"Is that your way of saying you're hungry?" Greg asks, arranging his red duvet on the couch. He figures since it's his house he gets dibs. Sherlock makes no argument.

Sherlock folds his duvet on the floor and arranges his pillow before answering "Hungry? Probably. Haven't eaten since Friday."

Greg freezes in the process of setting up his makeshift bed and responds incredulously "Friday? Sherlock it's Sunday night!"

Sherlock glances at the clock and says "Technically it's Monday morning. Two minutes into Monday morning to be precise."

Greg levels Sherlock with a glare. "Cut the crap Sherlock. I'm being serious. Why haven't you eaten in two days?"

Sherlock waves a hand dismissively and answers "I've been busy. Eating is a distraction and digestion slows my cognitive function."

Greg lets out a laugh that sounds more like a scoff and says "You can really be an idiot sometimes. Alright, into the kitchen. You're eating something before you go to bed."

Sherlock grumbles petulantly under his breath, but Greg's gentle shove propels him forward and he makes his way grudgingly into the kitchen.

Greg rambles through the fridge, calling out options. "Well there's some left-over spaghetti in here. Um... some left-over baked chicken. Stuff for sandwiches. Beans, I could put on some toast."

Sherlock makes no response to any of this so Greg continues on. " We've got some fruit in here too. Apples, pears. Or some yogurt? Ooh – how about eggs? Those sound good."

Greg doesn't await Sherlock's approval, instead removing the carton from the fridge. "We're having eggs." He proclaims.

"We're?" Sherlock questions, eyeing the carton distastefully. To be fair, that how he eye's all food though.

"Yeah, all this talk of food is making me hungry too." Greg answers, rummaging through the cabinets for a pan and spatula

Sherlock remains silent and Greg finds himself wondering when the last time someone cooked for Sherlock was. He never seems to let anyone care for him.

Greg doesn't voice his thought, but instead asks "How do you take your eggs?"

Sherlock lets out a snort and inquires "Does it make a difference?"

"Right, scrambled it is." Greg decided for him and beings crack and beating the eggs.

Apparently it did make a difference though because after watching Greg pour the eggs in the pan without adding a bit of milk Sherlock protested "You don't even know what you're doing" and shoved Greg from the stove.

Greg was far too tired to argue over eggs and leaned against the counter to watch Sherlock cook instead. Sherlock grumbles under his breath as he stirred in milk and adjusted the temperature of the burner.

Sherlock was humming a low tune, as he cooked, something classical Greg guessed. He'd never heard Sherlock hum, but then he'd never seen him like this either. Almost, domestic. Or something like that.

Suddenly, strangely he found himself recalling his wish to have a son. He adores his daughters of course and is just thrilled to have healthy children, regardless of gender. But when Emily was first pregnant he'd hoped for a son. When both pregnancies ended in girls and they agreed not to have any more he'd put the wish away.

But now, watching Sherlock spoon the eggs onto a plate, with a barely perceptible smile of satisfaction on his face the desire came back full force. He hadn't realized it up until now but he related to Sherlock as he might a grown son. The thought occurs to him that this late night with eggs could easily be a scene between a father and son after the son returns home from a late date or something of the sort. Come to think of it the idea of Sherlock calling him _"Dad"_ doesn't seem all that ridiculous.

He rubs his hand over his face to dispel the thought as Sherlock sets his plate on the counter with a clatter.

Sherlock hops onto the counter to eat his and Greg follows suit. Mainly because he dislikes Sherlock being even taller than usual. He stabs a bite with his fork and cautiously tastes it.

"These are pretty good." He says, unable to keep the surprise from his voice.

He expects Sherlock to be offended but instead Sherlock nods in agreement and says with a hint of his own surprise "They are."

He can't think of anything else to say so they finish their eggs in silence. Greg washes up the dishes so Emily doesn't have to do them in the morning.

When he's finished he wanders into the living room to see Sherlock already lying in his duvet cocoon on the floor.

Greg climbs onto the couch and murmurs "G'night , Sunshine" the words slipped out almost of their own accords and for a moment Greg is as surprised as Sherlock. He awaits Sherlock's reaction.

After a moment of silence Sherlock finally inquires "What did you call me?"

Greg searches his tone for offence or incredulity but finds none. "Sunshine." He responded matter-of-factly.

Sherlock furrows his brow in bemusement for a moment before asking _"Why?" _The question wasn't incredulous or nonplussed, instead it was pure confusion.

Greg shrugs because he himself is unsure. But the shrug doesn't satisfy Sherlock so Greg thinks for a few seconds before responding with the tip of a smile in his tone "'Cause you're the brightest person I know."

Sherlock pauses for a moment, seeming to debate between taking affront at such sentiment, or indulging in a smile at the compliment. After a few moments he opted for his usual route, sarcasm. "I guess that makes you the moon then."

"What?" Its Greg's turn to be confused and rolls on his side so he can better see Sherlock.

Sherlock rolls to face him as well and explains "The sun reflects its rays of light upon the moon, making it appear brighter than it actually is. Sounds like our working relationship doesn't it Inspector?" the punch-line is delivered with a smirk but there is unusual warmth in his eyes that softens the jab.

Greg snorts and quips "Sometimes I really hate you..."

Sherlock goes silent, before responding in a voice so low Greg nearly missed it "You're not the first to."

Greg is unsure as to how he should respond. Is Sherlock joking or is he serious? And if he is serious what should Greg say to something like that?

Sherlock cuts his thoughts short by saying "I need to be up early. Would you mind turning off the light?" and then rolls so his back is facing Greg.

Greg debates saying something to Sherlock for a few minutes, but can't come up with anything suitable.

Finally he settles for murmuring "Merry Christmas, Sherlock" and clicking off the lamp on the table beside him.

"Merry Christmas, Inspector." Comes the soft reply from the dark.

_**If convenient please review; if inconvenient review anyway**_

_**KP**_


End file.
